Journeying
by Levade
Summary: We all must say farewell eventually. Legolas, immortal Elf, and a Dúnadan part ways.


Title: Journeying  
Author: Levade  
Archive: Yes, just let me know, please   
Rating: G   
Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien created this wondrous world and the characters in   
it.   
Notes: I didn't set out to write a story, I was just typing some   
thoughts. Sap ahead! So...if you find it meager, that's why. Not   
beta'd, all mistakes are mine.   
  
~*~   
  
He is immortal. Older than many generations counted in my family   
tree. Legolas has told me tales about many of them. Tales he was   
there to witness, which is odd to me, being mortal, but quite normal   
for him.   
  
What must it be like to watch a friend grow older, withering and   
finally passing on, while your countenance changes not a whit?   
How must it feel to have endless time, with no worries of old bones   
growing brittle or joints stiffening?   
  
The elves have long been friends of my family. The Dúnedain still

walk Middle Earth, among them my young kinsman, Aragorn. 

Rangers we have long been, men and a few hardy women who   
guard the borders, roam the forests and plains and hunt, always hunt.   
  
For Orcs have never lost their hatred of man...or elf. Mordor ever   
hates us, and pours its poison over our mountains and hills, always   
searching for weakness. For signs of apathy.   
  
For an opening.   
  
We have been vigilant, watching over the lands of Gondor and Arnor. 

Guarding the Shire and Bree, watching over the passes of the Misty Mountains.  
And the elves, who walk so silently as not to bend even the tender   
grass shoots, have long been our allies.   
  
I suppose to an outsider it would seem odd that one elf could call so   
many generations of one family friend. Outsiders do not understand.   
There is much they could learn from the Eldar. Sadly, many beings   
fear that which they do not understand. In my travels I hear tales of   
people wandering into Elven Woods never to be seen again.   
  
Absurd. Wolves and cutthroats kill more unwary   
travelers than anything, or anyone. Elves are very adept at hiding in   
plain sight, clouding the sight of men. It isn't that hard, most men   
are foolish. They see what they want to see.   
  
Or, more often, simply fail to look up, into the tree branches.   
Dangerous that. More than birds alight in trees, and many an elf..and   
Ranger...has climbed a tree to wait and see who, or what, passes.   
  
This land will pass into the hands of men someday, baring the   
Darkness that ever seeks to swallow all of Middle Earth. Elves feel   
it. Their time here is waning. The yearning to go the Sea pulls at   
the older ones. I believe it is only their allegiance and love for   
the land that holds them here, instead of going to the Undying Land   
of Aman.   
  
Undying is our term, for why would an immortal race call a land such?   
It is a part of them, like the magic that is simply a part of their   
blood. They do not think of it as such, as they sing and chant while   
working steel that will become a "magical" blade. To them it is the   
way of things.   
  
Immortal. I, who am a mere mortal, cannot but imagine how life must   
be for Legolas.   
  
And now, in these later years of my life, time weighs upon me   
heavily. I would, if I were able, stay and see my kinsmen regain the   
Throne of Gondor. We have waited for many generations for it to come   
to pass. I do not think I will live to see it though. Aragorn is a   
fine young man, raised with the wisdom and temperance of Elrond. It   
may come to pass that he will be the one destined to return from   
exile.   
  
Thirty-nine generations, hoping, waiting.   
  
I pray he is the one.   
  
Legolas is here now, beside my bed where the fire warms my old bones.   
I see sadness in his usually bright eyes and I wish I was not the   
cause. "I am sorry, my very dear friend." I sigh as he takes my hand,   
warming it between his, gently stroking the parchment dry skin. "Soon   
I will leave you, adventuring on without you by my side." I reach up   
to stroke his face, smiling for him. My Bright One, he has always   
seemed to glow with an inner light. At times it burst from him in a   
joyful song. I never could resist smiling at those times, it was such   
a beautiful sound.   
  
A frown mars that lineless brow and I make a tutting sound as I   
smooth it, unable to resist moving my hand to the softness of his   
hair. "Don't frown, Legolas. It was ever meant to be so." I   
smile. "Wasn't it you who said it must be so that we humans would not   
overpopulate the whole of Middle Earth?"   
  
A smile creeps across his mouth, curving it softly. "I thought great   
age brought forgetfulness," he teases.   
  
"And who says it has not, Elrohir?" The fire of my youth is not   
completely gone from this tired body of mine.   
  
His hands squeeze mine tightly as he laughs, then sobers, leaning   
forward to cup my face in one hand. "You were ever spirited, dear   
one." The blue eyes glow with that inner brightness. "I still see in   
you the child who threw herself from the treetop, trusting I would   
catch her."   
  
"You never failed," I murmur, touched by the remembrance.   
  
"No." He looks away, and for a moment goes somewhere else. Lost in a   
memory that for him was but a short time ago. It is moments like   
these that bring to the heart just how different human are from the   
Firstborn. How mysterious they can seem at times. How much they must   
see in their lives.   
  
How short human lives must be to the Elves.   
  
Grief wells up, springing to my eyes in a tear that rolls down a   
wrinkled cheek.   
  
Legolas' attention returns to me with a startled look that becomes a   
frown of concern. "Are you in pain? Why did you not let -"   
  
"No, Bright One." I push a smile past my sorrow. No use wishing for   
things that cannot be. Humans die. My time is coming. I lean my cheek   
into his hand. "No pain." My gaze wanders to the window, the beauty   
of Imladris. I am a most fortunate mortal, granted my last days here   
in the valley of Elrond's refuge.   
  
I loose the regrets. There are things that cannot be, that I never   
will see.   
  
"Legolas..."   
  
He shifts closer, sitting on the cot. Strokes the white hair that   
once was as dark as raven's wings back from my face. "It must be dire   
indeed, if you call me by name." Leans forward yet more, bending over   
me, with an elbow on either side of my chest. A soft, sweet smile   
curves his mouth as he looks deep into my eyes.   
  
"Watch over Aragorn?" I can't help reaching up to stroke the soft,   
bright gold of his hair, fingers falling to finger a braid. "Show him   
the ways of the woods, the things you of Mirkwood who know trees so   
well alone can teach."   
  
One nod, given without hesitation. Oh, men are such fools in their   
fears! There is no more faithful friend than an elf.   
  
Weariness begins to creep into my body. For so many years this body   
bore me where I would go, enduring hardships and pain, pleasure and   
grief in equal measure. I have scars from wounds that tell the story   
of a Ranger's life. Never easy. A life I am proud of, that I will not   
mind being told to my children's children.   
  
He will tell them. They all know him, love to ride piggy-back when he   
will permit it, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, though he would   
never let them fall. I've watched him swing them high in the air,   
laughing as brightly and joyfully as they, until they both fell,   
dizzy from the spinning.   
  
It is reassuring. Comforting. I cannot be there to watch over them,   
to protect them. To show them all that I learned in my long life.   
Legolas can...and will.   
  
The brightness of my Elven friend seems to grow as my   
eyelids droop. There is one other thing before I go to the sleep that   
will usher me to the next journey. "Will you sing for me?"   
  
His voice is from all times in my life; childhood, adult, elder.   
There is not a time I cannot recall being comforted by his singing.   
  
I feel his arms slip under my shoulders, and then he is holding me   
against his chest, just as he did when I was a small child. One hand   
strokes my hair as he gently rocks me, and he begins to softly sing,   
his cheek pressed to my forehead.   
  
A safe place. Timeless.  
  
A restful place.   
  
Full of love.   
  
Full of light.   
  
I close my eyes and follow Legolas' voice to the lands of my   
forefathers.   
  
~*~  
end  
  
  



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